i collect memories
store ’em in a binder
under my bed
deep under past the monster
blow the dust away
they start early
half eaten by moths or accidents
birthdays and birthdays
a success photo shoot
that fucking kid billy that i hated
(take that one out real quick)
flip to the back to these empty pages
no dust no moths no sad endings- yet
a place i come often
a sweet reminder that the previous pages
don’t tell the end
moths will get to them just like the beginning
will put it back, with out guardian monster
take our books, pens and camera to the park
and look for butterflies
